<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>But I'm hungry for blood by Fuil_agus_deora</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29722047">But I'm hungry for blood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuil_agus_deora/pseuds/Fuil_agus_deora'>Fuil_agus_deora</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Waves Have Come [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, References to Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:07:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29722047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuil_agus_deora/pseuds/Fuil_agus_deora</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Achilles swore all Greeks would die.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Waves Have Come [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139177</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>But I'm hungry for blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay so this is the short second to last piece in the series. I swear, I’m going to take a break from the angst and sadness before the last one.<br/>Should I write a secret relationship au? With some fluff, and possibly some smut? I’m a whore for those, so I might.<br/>I’d update Putting The Dog To Sleep, but I am awful at updating those daily. I promise that another chapter of that is in the works.<br/>Anyway, enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was never fond of the ocean, not as much as the man who had pulled them both off the cliff.</p><p>The dark waves swirled and tempted like a trio of sirens, starving and wondrous, as they were washed up on shore. Poseidon's kingdom poured out from lungs, a cacophony of heaving and sputtering.</p><p>Hannibal's fingers aimlessly grasped at the damp sand as he pulled himself out of reach from the waves, trying to drag Will along. Deadweight and limp, he wouldn't stop until the water couldn't grab at their ankles anymore.</p><p>Once he was sure they were safe from the lapping abyss, weak and strained arms wrapped his partner. Even if the gun wound in his abdomen was quickly draining him. Even if that gut feeling he had about their condition was getting worse, almost unbearable.</p><p>He knew what the reality was, but it left a bitter taste on his tongue.</p><p>He was alone, again.</p><p>Yet the death of a loved one as merged as he was worse of a punishment than the eagle feasting on Prometheus‘ organs for eternity. It was a bitter pairing of karma and growing resentment. He had failed to keep another, like how he had failed to keep his sister. Mischa, poor thing. Slaughtered like an animal.</p><p>And broth, meat, and teeth was all that was left of her. </p><p>He couldn’t do that to Will. No, no. Not anymore. </p><p>He used to want to, just as the man in his arms used to want to strangle him. But they fell, together, on the Lamb's own accord. His wrath was devastating and dangerous, and ultimately sacrifical.</p><p>He had shown him a glimpse of his Reckoning, his radiance, as they killed Francis Dolarhyde. They were conjoined, as one and the same, and it was ecstatic.</p><p>Large, shuddering hands framed Will's lifeless face, mirroring what depraved and wretched grief Achilles must've felt for the demise of Patroclus. </p><p>His love was the stinging salt of the sea, the burning cruelness of the sun, the rough lick of a stray dog's tongue, the fires that devastate wilderness, the knife's sharp blade used to skin game, the damp snow in cotton cloth. It was a violence of another name, unable to be described.</p><p>Unyielding devotion to a merciless god.</p><p>He wasn’t opposed to some Old Testament revenge, and yet that seemed mild compared to what would—could—honor he who uprooted his way of living completely.</p><p>Will Graham was the downfall of Icarus, and Hannibal would happily allow him to wrap his arms around him once again. And again. And again.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>